


Fields, Forever

by Kasimir (Ammar)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3811111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammar/pseuds/Kasimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leliana and the Warden, before and after the choices they must make. Leliana/M!Cousland, hinted Leliana/Fergus Cousland. Based on the feel of Sting’s ‘Fields of Gold’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fields, Forever

  
_Listen to me. No one needs to die._

  
Isn’t that what you wanted?  
  
-  
  
The knock came quietly, in the darkness that enfolded and numbed the manor.  
  
She’d turned out the last lamp, and laid down the unstrung longbow by the bed. Waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, Leliana padded over to the door in the darkness and opened it quietly, a crack.  
  
Fionn stood on the other side, his expression remote on his pale face. Bloodshot eyes took in her pale fawn nightshift and said, “Oh. You were about to sleep.” He didn’t colour, or she couldn’t tell in the unsteady light from the hallway torches.  
  
“It’s all right,” she said quietly. “I have the time.” Tomorrow, they rode to battle, she knew. They’d make camp in the wilderness for a short while and make it at a forced march to Denerim. Ferelden’s cavalry was of little use: horses shied away from the darkspawn, but when it came to fielding a solid bloc of forces in a short period of time, the horses were invaluable. They’d all talked about that earlier, when Fionn, Riordan and the Arl and Alistair and the generals had sat down and planned their strategy together.  
  
Riordan had asked to speak to Alistair and Fionn alone, and now he smiled but there was something dark and uneasy hiding behind his eyes. Dark circles marked where he hadn’t had enough sleep for a while, or where the dim light thrust the signs of care into relief.  
  
He slipped silently into her room and shut the door behind him. Leliana went over to search for her tinderbox and coaxed a spark to light the candle-stub in the lamp. She said aloud, ruefully, conscious of Fionn’s pale grey eyes on her, watching her movements, “I should have just hooded the lamp.”  
  
“You weren’t expecting a visitor,” Fionn said. “Reason enough. And you’re better with a tinderbox than I am. May I?” he asked, indicating her bed. She nodded and he sat down on the edge of it, away from her. He was dressed simply; he’d shed his armour and was wearing nothing more than a blue and white quilted undertunic. He’d once told her, casually, when she’d asked, that blue and white were the colours of his family. The Couslands of Highever. She’d asked him if he’d ever thought he’d see Highever again, and his expression turned wistful.  
  
Leliana waited for him to speak first. Fionn was terribly patient, but today, they weren’t playing any waiting games. He’d wanted a listener, she thought. She’d offered all along.  
  
He said, “I wanted to talk about your vision.”  
  
They hadn’t talked about it, not since the Gauntlet. Not since the Guardian, when Fionn had reassured her that he didn’t intend to talk about it. And then they had other things on their mind, after they’d found the Urn.  
  
She didn’t say anything for a bit, and let the silence stretch. She read the tension humming in the set of his shoulders, in the earnest intensity on his face, and knew that her pride wasn’t important. “What about it?” Leliana asked, softly.  
  
He recited, gravely, “You dreamed there was a darkness. And a terrible, ungodly noise. And then you found yourself…falling. Falling into darkness. You said you fell, or maybe you jumped. You’d do anything to stop the Blight.”  
  
“Yes,” she said. He stared at her searchingly, as if he was looking for something more from her. “I would. The Blight…you’ve seen what it’s doing to Ferelden. If we don’t fight, if we don’t do whatever we must to stop it…”  
  
Fionn squeezed his eyes shut and stood up, in an abrupt gesture. He whirled about and strode down the length of her room, headed for her door. For a moment, she thought he was going to leave, but then he turned back. Pacing, like a caged animal. He said, “Riordan spoke to us.” Eyes the colour of glass on a winter morning glittered in the lamplight. “Have you ever thought,” he said, deceptively calm, “Why Grey Wardens are needed to battle the Blight?”  
  
Leliana nodded. “The Order is best-equipped,” she said, “They’re utterly dedicated towards the eradication of the darkspawn threat –”  
  
“ – _Why?_ ” he snarled, cutting across her voice. He glared at her, eyes gleaming wildly. Leliana realised she’d gotten to her feet, almost as if she thought…she thought she needed to be ready. His expression subsided in a moment. “I’m sorry,” he told her, voice entirely calm and controlled.  
  
“Apology accepted,” Leliana said, but he’d aroused her curiosity now, and it wasn’t going to be sated until she knew the secret Fionn was hinting at. “Why, then?”  
  
Fionn turned about, and stood absolutely still, studying her. He said, “Because only a Grey Warden can kill an archdemon. If anyone else other than a Grey Warden delivers the killing blow, the archdemon’s soul flees into the nearest darkspawn –”  
  
“ _Maker’s breath_ ,” Leliana whispered, horrified. She saw the twisted shape of it now, the pieces of the Grey Warden puzzle sliding together with a neat _click_ and she saw her horrified realisation mirrored on his face. “And there’s a whole _Blight_ of darkspawn out there.”  
  
Fionn said, grimly, “The Blight continues.”  
  
“But if a Grey Warden kills the archdemon…” she prodded.  
  
“The Warden dies,” Fionn said bitterly. His hands closed into white-knuckled fists by his side and his breathing was harsh. “The archdemon dies. No one comes back alive.”  
  
“Oh,” she breathed. It was the only thing she could think of saying.  
  
“Three Wardens,” Fionn said. The air of deadly calm had returned as he explained to her the details of his own possible death. “Assuming one of us doesn’t die, that’s two Wardens to take the final blow. If. Alistair,” he said, explaining when he saw her faintly puzzled look. “If he takes the final blow, it’ll be a disaster. We just broke out of civil war. The realm would go back to it. Anora isn’t a particularly strong candidate, not without her father.” His lips twisted in a smile. “Riordan was trying to save us all along. He told us to make Loghain a Warden…said the more Wardens the _better_ , and none of us listened to him…”  
  
“And you are…”  
  
“Riordan,” he said, harshly. He sat down hard on her bed; she felt the mattress sink beneath his weight and he shifted his position slightly. “Riordan will take the final blow. It’s all about seniority.”  
  
And he was frightened, still. She saw the fear in him, in the way his eyes widened, in the harsh scrape of his breathing. There was fear in Fionn’s anger, and then he reached for her hand, tentatively. Their fingers interlocked.  
  
“I’m scared,” he breathed. “I’m used to fighting darkspawn now, knowing we might die. But to know that one of us _must_ die when we fight that archdemon and take the final blow…” He shifted, so he was now sitting next to her, almost-touching. His fingers were almost too-warm. “I fought so hard, all this while. It wasn’t just my duty. I don’t want to die,” Fionn murmured, and there was a lost, frightened look in his eyes all this while. She shifted so she could bring one arm around him in a one-armed hug. Fionn hesitated for barely a moment before he let her do it. “ _Plans_ ,” he whispered into her ear. “Battle’s about things going wrong. About losing people like Riordan. About…about having to do what needs to be done. You would do anything to stop the Blight.”  
  
Leliana said, softly, almost – just almost, hating herself for that tiny shiver of fear – “If I could, I would take that burden from you. I can’t. I’m not the Grey Warden. You are.”  
  
“Yes,” he whispered, “I am.”  
  
She ran her fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, just enjoying the proximity. Fionn was quiet, thinking. She let him have the space and the time he needed, for this one last night. His breathing deepened and he pulled her closer.  
  
“Are you…?” he asked quietly.  
  
She said, “Yes,” and he kissed her mouth, gently. She shifted to make room for him in the bed, and hooded the lamp.  
  
-  
  
“Lake House,” Fionn said, softly.  
  
Leliana arched a curious eyebrow. His breathing had slowed, and evened out as he lay on his back, gazing at the ceiling. He ran a hand through his light brown hair, thinking of somewhere else. He glanced at her and saw her quizzical expression. “Lake House,” he repeated. “I was going to take you there, you know. After the war. After…all of this.” His mouth drew tight, but he held himself in check and continued. “Eleazar Cousland, a great-great-great-great-great grandfather named it, when he’d built it. It’s a beautiful house, you’d have loved it. A great manor house, in the softer farmlands south of Highever, overlooking Lake Sarim. They named it after the first Cousland to take Highever from Amaranthine.”  
  
“The same Sarim in the tale of Connobar Elstan?” Leliana asked. She could faintly make out his nod in the darkness.  
  
“Yes,” he said, smiling. “The same. Lake Sarim isn’t big. Therefore it doesn’t appear on most maps of Ferelden. It’s part of South Reach. I was supposed to be the bann of South Reach,” he added, as an afterthought. “It’s traditional. The older son inherits the teyrnir, the younger children get some land and get put up in Highever. In my case, I was to be a bann.” He made an unhappy expression. “I’m the teyrn of Highever now. Arl Howe saw to that. Unless Fergus is still alive.”  
  
“He could be,” Leliana pointed out. “There’s no way of knowing.”  
  
“Yes, there isn’t,” Fionn whispered. He stared, up and out into the gloom. Some faint light entered the room by way of the shutters. He was staring at the silver-white beams, brooding.  
  
“You were talking about Lake House,” Leliana prodded, just as much for her own curiosity as it was to distract him.  
  
“Yes,” Fionn said. He offered her a shaky smile. “I was, wasn’t I? Lake House. Father always took us there in the summer. Mother loved it there…Oriana , Fergus…they spent months there, after they’d married. I didn’t begrudge them.” His hand found hers, again. She heard the sound of his breathing; an exhale that sounded like a wistful sigh. She squeezed his hand lightly. Fionn continued, “South Reach includes some of the softer farmland of old Amaranthine,” he explained. “Lake House was near barley fields. The farmers would sow in the spring, and then harvest in late summer, early autumn. My brother and I…Fergus…we’d run and chase each other through the fields. They were beautiful, in the summer, when the barley started to ripen and turn bright gold. We’d play hide-and-seek in the great house and the fields, and then we’d lie back in the fields and watch the sky. As bright a blue as you could ever hope for.”  
  
Leliana was quiet, drawn in by his words; both the picture he painted, and the quiet, wistful longing in his voice.  
  
“Of course,” Fionn said, a while later, “Mother was furious that we’d been disrupting the harvest. She’d punished us, set us to punishment work for all the trouble we’d caused. But we did it anyway. It was beautiful. A quiet sort of beautiful, the kind of place you’d like to spend all summer, write songs about. Well, maybe songs.”  
  
“I can imagine,” she breathed. “I wanted to travel the world, once this was over. I wanted to travel with you, see the old battle sites in the Anderfels, Weisshaupt fortress, just below the peak of the mountain…miles and miles of snow in all directions. You haven’t seen the Grand Cathedral in Orlais, have you? There’s a labyrinth there. It’s exquisite; right beneath where the sunlight slants through massive stained-glass windows. Pilgrims are encouraged to walk the steps of the labyrinth, to meditate, feel closer to the Maker and Andraste…” her voice, too, trembled now. “Marjolaine showed me…”  
  
He held her, tightly, fiercely. “We’d watch the sky,” he murmured, “We’d see where the clouds were. When the wind came in, it’d come from the west, and the barley stalks would move, rippling like wave after wave of bright, living gold. We’d watch the clouds drift across the sky and play Teyrn and Bann. We’d play in the lake; Fergus took me swimming. I almost drowned once, Father was furious with Fergus, he had Fergus teach me to swim properly, under his supervision…”  
  
“I always wanted to see the tomb. More of it. It was so majestic; to think the resting place of Andraste was in the mountains of Ferelden itself…everyone, bards…we’d all thought it was a _metaphor_ , just…a beautiful story. But it was true. On the mountains, before the gaze of the Maker whom she loved so dearly…I wish we could have spent more time looking, just looking at what those early followers had built…”

“Closer to Highever, there was a small grove there, in the forest. Everytime we did something stupid, Fergus and I would sneak out quietly at night to go find sprays of Andraste’s Grace, leave them in Mother’s cupboard. It was our way of saying sorry…”  
  
“There’s an elegant palace in Antiva,” she said, “Closer to the drylands. An entire palace of sand-hued stone, with tall, magnificent arches, coloured mosaics from wall to wall, wide, sweeping courtywards with fruit-bearing trees for shade and a vast ornamental lake…Marjolaine told me about it, I’d always wanted to go there…”  
  
“There’s a room in the manor house,” Fionn murmured, “There’s a special story behind it. Eleazar Cousland built that room, after the house was created, when his wife died. You could say it was dedicated to the memory of his wife…he couldn’t bear to, at first. But then he had to. He had to watch the sunsets from that room, watch them fade a magnificent red and gold across the horizon, sweeping across the wide barley fields and the still lake. Sit in the old chair that Ailse Cousland loved, so much. And just sit there, rocking, until the stars came out.” He hesitated for a bit before he said, “Father used to tell us stories in that same chair…”  
  
She felt his shoulders shake, heard his muffled cries. “I miss them,” he admitted, in the ensuing silence. “I don’t…I miss them. But there’s so much I want to do. I don’t want to die, just yet. I want to live. I want to…”  
  
“Riordan,” Leliana said quietly, holding him as he wept bitterly. It was a hope, a tiny little mean hope. How could she describe how cruel it was to hope that the older Warden would die, to create a chance for Fionn to live?  
  
_Or maybe I jumped. I’d do anything to stop the Blight. I know we can do it._  
  
She held him, until sleep claimed them both.  
  
-  
  
Everybody lives, Fionn. No one has to die.  
  
_The child conceived will bear the taint and the soul of an Old God…_  
  
-  
  
Deeper into the night, Fionn opened his eyes. He gently disentangled himself, and stood up. Leliana slept, with no sign of stirring. They were all weary; he felt even more so.  
  
He knew what he had to do, now.  
  
He pulled on his undertunic, slipping into the clothing with the ease of practice, even if he couldn’t quite see in the dark. Quietly, he slipped out of the room, and shut the door behind him.  
  
-  
  
“It’s beautiful,” Leliana said softly, as the wind blew and the stalks of ripe gold barley undulated in the wind, moving like the waves of a vast sea. Fergus looked much like his brother; his hair was darker, and his eyes were a dark brown, but they had similar features, and he had the same good humour.  
  
“Yes,” Fergus said, in just as hushed a voice. “It is.” He hesitated, letting her drink in the sight of the lake, and the golden barley fields. “It’ll be hard enough, finding homes for the displaced. And the Blight destroyed most of the grain stores in the south. Come winter, I pity the king when he has to figure out how to feed them.”  
  
In the south, the Blight had spread, destroying the land. Leliana knew the tales of what the Blight had done to the Anderfels. Miles and miles of land that would never support life again. But the Blight had not so long to claim the land in Ferelden. Mages and scholars were already confident that Ferelden’s southern lands would recover, given time.  
  
Time was what the heroes of the Blight had bought them. Riordan, Fionn, and everyone who had died in the Battle of Denerim. Peace, and time to grow. Time to recover, and for Ferelden to grow strong again, to mend the damage that the Orlesian invasion and the Blight had done. A time to start living again.  
  
“Alistair’s got Arl Eamon and Wynne,” Leliana reminded him. “They’ll find a way to deal with it. Her last letter said he was doing splendidly as king.”  
  
“I heard,” Fergus said, turning his face in the direction of the wind, letting it tease his unruly hair. “Alistair’s been writing me as well, you know. I think he feels bad about Fionn.” His eyes said he wasn’t completely done yet. “To think of my little brother becoming a Grey Warden and leading an army across Ferelden to crown a king and kill an archdemon…”  
  
“Unexpected?” Leliana suggested.  
  
Fergus gave a bark of a laugh. “Oh, I expected it. If there’s one thing you should remember about Fionn…it’s how he pulls off those ideas you always thought were crazy. It was his idea, you know. To go swimming in the lake when he didn’t even know how to swim. Mother was furious. And we’d run through those fields, and the wild garden at the back – and I haven’t even shown you the garden.”  
  
“He said it was your idea,” Leliana said, smiling at the memory.  
  
“Yes, well,” Fergus said dismissively, “It counts as his idea. He ran with it.” He grinned boyishly. “Of course, I helped.”  
  
“Of course,” Leliana agreed, solemnly. He cracked first, before he did.  
  
“Oh, very well. I had my share of silly ideas. It runs in the family, I think.” His face grew serious once more. “He wrote me,” Fergus said quietly. “Just in case I’d survived. He wrote a letter, and told Alistair to give it to me, or to the next teyrn of Highever. He asked me to show you around, all our old boyhood places…the Lake House…the fields…everywhere, he said. He said you’d love it.”  
  
“I love it,” Leliana breathed, and felt the pain rise quietly in her chest and threaten to choke her, for a few passing moments. “It’s so quiet. Peaceful, even.”  
  
“It is,” Fergus said. “Sometimes…well. Sometimes, I close my eyes, and then when I open them, I expect to see Oren, hiding in the fields. He’d loved to do that too. It drove Oriana crazy, of course, and then we’d have to go hunting for him. Or I expect to see Fionn there, lying on his back by the lake. There’s a grassy spot there; it was his favourite place to go when he had to be alone and think.”  
  
“There?” she asked, pointing.  
  
“There,” Fergus confirmed, and then continued in a low murmur, “And then I remember they’re gone. Father, Mother, Oren, Oriana…Fionn…it’s so strange, to think I’m the last one left. I’m the only one left.” He blinked, and stared at her curiously. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”  
  
“He thought you were dead,” Leliana said gently. “He said the same thing, at night, around the campfire. He was the only one left. All of you were gone.”  
  
“I thought I was done for, sometimes,” Fergus said. “The darkspawn were everywhere. And then there were rumours of Arl Howe becoming teyrn of Highever, and nothing about Father…I’d guessed, by then. But there was little news, among the Chasind. Figuring out what had happened…that came later.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Anyway. Technically, my little brother was the bann of South Reach, and it should have reverted back to me because he’s dead. Part of that letter’s addressed to you. I’ve got it in the house. But…”  
  
“But?”  
  
“I can make you bann of South Reach,” he said quietly. “He wanted his lands to go to you. You’ll be a Cousland vassal. Or...if you want to wander the world, and see all those things you wanted to see…well. There’ll always be a place for you at Highever.” There was something in his eyes that Leliana didn’t want to answer, not yet. It was a little too soon. It promised something more, but Fergus, too, had lost and was aching.  
  
She wondered if that was what Fionn had in mind, that night when he was penning the letter to his brother. Perhaps he’d thought exactly that. “I think…” Leliana said slowly, “Let me think about it?”  
  
Fergus touched her hand, lightly, just for a moment. “You have all the time you need,” he told her. “Take all the time you need. There’s no need to rush into things. There’s so much work to be done, and I’d be glad of any help I could get.”  
  
“Thank you,” Leliana said. “Do you mind…can I…I’d like to be alone for a while.”  
  
He nodded, and offered her a faint smile. It offset the sadness in the beginnings of the faint lines around his eyes, just a little. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be in the house.”  
  
When she saw Fergus’ retreating back far enough in the distance, Leliana approached the grassy spot that Fergus had indicated. It was as he had said; when she sat there for a while, it was possible to believe that part of Fionn still lingered here, if she closed her eyes. That if she opened them, she thought she caught a fleeting glimpse of him as he must have been then, young, carefree, staring into the waters of Lake Sarim.  
  
She closed her eyes, but this time, the tears didn’t come. She’d wept, in the aftermath of the battle. Several times, in the following days. By now, it had congealed into a lump of ice in her chest, hard and painful, and it was melting in the bright summer of South Reach, the pain trickling slowly away.  
  
One day, it would be mostly gone. Mostly. She’d know he’d wanted her to live, but she wasn’t sure now about travelling the world, alone. She’d wanted to, at first. But now…there were other things. The look in Fergus’ eyes, that said that her company would be more than welcome. Ferelden was a damaged land, and she’d stopped wandering to become a lay sister because she’d feared her enemies in Orlais.  
  
She’d found the Maker’s peace, here in Ferelden. Perhaps now it was time to start working for it. Fergus had said it right; there was much work that needed to be done.  
  
And it was time to start doing it.  
  
She laid her hand against her abdomen for a moment, and felt the faint kick, the faint flutter that meant _life_.  
  
Resolutely, Leliana stood up, turning away from the lake, the ghosts running forever along the fields of gold. She would go to the house, and she would ask Fergus. And they would talk; about Fionn, about Oriane and Oren.  
  
And together, perhaps, they would start to build from what was left.

 

**Author's Note:**

> May one day expand on this one-shot, but it'd be a more 'slice of life' type fic following Leliana, Fergus, and the child.


End file.
